


wicked games

by Yellow



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Choking, F/F, the opposite of healthy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-23
Updated: 2017-06-23
Packaged: 2018-11-17 22:13:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11277819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yellow/pseuds/Yellow
Summary: “Do you know how pearls are made?” Adelaide is draped over Hella like a necklace.Hella can't stop staring at the tear in her dress, the red-brown stain above her heart.





	wicked games

**Author's Note:**

> well,,,,
> 
> thanks for the good convos about choking on twitter dot com
> 
> "what a wicked thing to do, to let me dream of you"

The dreams always start the same way: Hella, kneeling, with a vague sense she's done something wrong.

Hella's done many things wrong, of course. She just likes knowing what she's being held accountable for.

Every time Adelaide sweeps in the room Hella's mouth goes dry, because in retrospect it's always obvious. What else could she be guilty of but that?

Adelaide is beautiful, even with the open wound in the center of her chest. Her dress is seafoam green and floats around her as she walks. And she walks to Hella.

“Why did you do it?”

It's the same answer every time. Eyes downcast. “He asked me to.”

Adelaide pushes her with a foot until she's lying on her back. Hella goes. Adelaide follows her down, ripping off Hella's shirt and pants with a practiced ease. Then they're in the forest. They're in Hella's idea of what the forest is, maybe: there are no animals and the trees and the two moons in the sky only give the suggestion of a place. It is hard to focus, when Adelaide is starting to fuck her with a finger. Her hand is cold.

“How many times is this,” Hella asks, trying to keep her voice steady. “What's the point?”

Adelaide starts working on Hella's clit. Hella swallows. She watches Adelaide watch her throat. Then two of Adelaide's fingers are scissoring her cunt open, slow and unbearable and unyielding.

"Why don't you just kill me," Hella gasps. “I know you want to.”

"You're more useful to me here," Adelaide says, circling her finger around Hella's clit. Her other hand is three fingers deep in Hella's cunt.

“Do you know how pearls are made?” Adelaide says, low, into Hella's ear. She's draped over Hella like a necklace. Hella can't stop staring at the tear in her dress, the red-brown stain above her heart.

Yes, Hella knows how pearls are made. Adaire told her once. She swallows, looks at Adelaide.

“No.”

The right answer. Adelaide smiles.

“Some grit,” she says, thrusting up with her fingers. Hella moans and bucks her hips. Adelaide leans back and pushes her hips down with a hand.

“Some grit, something bad, something impure,” she says, and rubs at Hella's clit. Hella bites her lip so hard it bleeds. “It gets into an oyster,” Adelaide says, “and with layers and layers of nacre-” Hella flinches, not from the fingers working on her clit. “With work, and time,” she says, words heavy on her tongue, fingers thrusting hard into Hella, “it becomes something beautiful.”

“Someday,” she says, eyes fixed on Hella's, “you will be my prize jewel.”

She's so close. Adelaide's toying with her now, fingers circling her clit just a fraction too slow. She tries to move closer but Adelaide has her pinned. Hella throws her head back and pants.

"Although," she says, and trails a lovely hand down Hella's bared neck.

And then both her lovely, delicate hands are a vice around Hella's throat. She struggles wildly but cannot seem to break free. Hella's eyes open and shut, and Adelaide's hair frames her face like a cloud, like a halo. Hella gasps against her hands and stops struggling. Her cunt throbs wildly, and then everything is black. She wakes in the cold throne room of death, Adelaide's hands on her throat, Adelaide's dress perfect and whole, pooling around their legs where Adelaide is straddling her. There is one brief, unsettling moment where Hella doesn't need to breathe. And then they're in the not-real forest again. She tries to gasp in air but Adelaide's hands are tight on her neck. Her legs kick wildly but Adelaide does not let go, and once again her eyes roll back in her head. She wakes up in that cold room, and then in the forest. Adelaide's hands are around her throat.

Hella sobs.

“Please, please,” she begs, not sure what she's asking for-for Adelaide to leave, for Adelaide to let her breathe, for Adelaide to let her come.

"You killed him three times?" Adelaide asks, conversational. Her hands spasm on Hella's throat. It hurts, everything hurts, crying hurts and begging hurts but she just wants it to _stop._

Adelaide looks at her a long moment, watches her writhe and sob, and then in a flat voice says, “We'll save the third.”

She reaches down and circles Hella's clit with her thumb. Pinches her nipple with her other hand and fucks Hella on her fingers.

Hella gasps through a broken throat and comes, arching back. She pants. Every breath is agony. Adelaide pushes her fingers into Hella's mouth and Hella licks them clean. Swallowing is agony, too. Adelaide pulls her hand away and Hella lies back and closes her eyes.

Adelaide stands.

“Good,” she says after a moment, voice dull. She bends to put a hand on Hella's hair. “Good,” she says again, and walks away.

There is never anything in the dreams after Adelaide chooses to go. Hella opens her eyes a slit to watch her and tries to catch her breath. One moment Adelaide is there, gown fluttering, the next she is gone.

  
  


Hella wakes up gasping. Her throat is whole but the pain lingers a second, a minute, long enough for her to know. To know that Adelaide can touch her, more than a laugh in her head, more than a dead hand on her clit.

Adaire is keeping watch. Hella evens her breathing and then begins to sit up. Adaire glances over and then away. Hella stretches, casual, and stands. She doesn't miss the little looks Adaire throws at her as she comes to sit at the fireside. Hella wonders if she was writhing in her sleep.

“Can't sleep?” Adaire asks.

Hella grunts.

Adaire nods like she's said something and pokes at the fire ineffectually. She throws another glance at Hella. This time Hella catches her gaze, and Adaire is the first to look away.

“Hey,” she says. “I was about to make some tea. You want some?”

She's already reaching for Hella's kettle and Hella's tea.

“Yeah. Sure.”

Adaire grins.

When the tea is done, Adaire pours her a cup and sits closer than she usually would, shoulder touching Hella's arm. It's good. It's grounding.

Hella drinks the Rosemerrow tea blend and feels Adaire's arm touching hers, warm and alive.

There is no laughter in her head, no ghosts, no broken promises or broken throats-not for right now. 

Her throat doesn't hurt at all.

**Author's Note:**

> haha...well...
> 
> find me @erintherockerin


End file.
